


so blue trains rush by in my sleep

by Slightly Anonymous Sapphic (Cinnamonbookworm)



Category: Mamamoo
Genre: F/F, Insomnia, Sleepy Cuddles, based on that Dumb VLieV that gave us NOTHING, because i'm a monster who can't let go of basic tropes, bed sharing trope, lapslock, the color blue - Freeform, why? u ask
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 06:18:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11307456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnamonbookworm/pseuds/Slightly%20Anonymous%20Sapphic
Summary: so she just lies there.  wheein pulled close, looking at the clock and telling herself she’ll move in a minute.  but she doesn’t.Or: wheein has insomnia and that goddamn vliev gave us none of that good wheebyul content





	so blue trains rush by in my sleep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [guaek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/guaek/gifts).



> for jordan. just because.   
> title is from the poem "blue monday" by diane wakoski.

it’s not that wheein’s an insomniac.

at least, that’s what she swears at first, over a quiet dinner of take out in their shared apartment. she’s got her hand over her mouth, too, trying to be polite amidst the mess of rice in her mouth. 

“i’m just not really sleeping these days,” she shrugs. “you don’t need to worry about it.”

this had been the downside, byul had suspected, when it came to the two of them rooming together. neither of them are quite as open to acknowledging their pains as solar and hwasa are. a different combination might’ve been better in this regard. yet, somehow, they’ve made it work so far.

what byul knows by this statement, though - with this statement paired with the shared unspoken fact that the two of them are too similar for words - is that it’s been going on much longer than wheein’s self-professed week. 

byul frowns at the situation. she looks wheein over, searching for any visible signs of sleep deprivation. it’s not in her neck - currently left open by caramel (comeback!) hair that’s swept into a low ponytail - nor her shoulders, but her eyes where she finds it. dark circles barely hidden by her makeup left over from their shoot earlier that day. the slump of her mouth, too, once it’s finished eating.

“is there anything i can do to help?” she asks. “you need to be getting rest if we’re about to start promotions again. what if you collapse?”

wheein’s eyes drift to another corner of the room. byul tries to meet her gaze but she won’t look back. 

“it’s dumb,” wheein says. “so dumb. i just. it helped once before. it might help again.”

“what is it?”

wheein meets her gaze then, takes a deep breath, and opens her mouth to speak. nothing comes out.

“yes?” byul asks, beginning to laugh at her roommate’s sudden shyness.

“when we were in school…” she begins. “hyejin and i. and i would get stressed about auditions - our earliest ones, before i was tired of the process - we used to be so late getting home. and her house was further than mine so she’d stay at my place and-”

“wheein-ah.”

“yes?”

“you’re rambling.”

wheein pouts at her, every bit of the puppy that their fans have lovingly titled her. “my point is sometimes i would get so stressed that i couldn’t sleep. and the only way i could sleep was if i got- if she… cuddles.”

“cuddles?”

wheein immediately hides her face in her hands. it may or may not be because byul is trying her hardest not to start laughing.

“you’re making fun of me!” she whines. “i’m serious!”

byul manages to regain her composure, somehow. “and you want me to…” she starts, before her brain gets kind of fuzzy at the thought of what wheein’s asking her to do. “you want me to-”

“cuddles,” wheein says. “yes. just for a night or two. i promise. then it’ll all go back to normal and we won’t ever act like this happened ever again. okay?”

there’s still something fuzzy at the edges of her thoughts but nevertheless, byul smiles, grabs her roommate’s hand, and agrees.

“okay.”

*.*.*

the first night is fine. that’s all it is.

byul climbs up to wheein’s top bunk and awkwardly laughs with her as they try to figure out positioning. wheein is cutely adamant about being the little spoon. it’s weird, but they’ve been living together for long enough that the weirdness fades quickly.

and it works, somehow.

once wheein’s asleep she climbs down and lies down, letting the sound of summer that comes in through their open bedroom window overwhelm her senses until she finds sleep.

the second night is also fine.

this time, though, as she’s leaving, wheein tugs on her hand. “stay a little longer,” she whispers. “i’m not quite asleep yet.” 

byul lies back down, wraps her arm around her again, and feels that fuzz from before creeping up. it’s like sleep, but different. a warm feeling. a new feeling.

and then, the next morning, when they’re at rehearsal, they’re all supposed to move, switch spots, but byul’s mind is back in the dark with that haze that she’s beginning to become familiar with. wheein has to softly shove her to shake her out of it.

“byulyi,” she says. “we’re moving, remember?”

her touch does not fix the haze so much as pull all of it into focus. it does not disperse, just clarify a little. enough to finish the dance, at least. 

“what is with you today?” wheein asks, afterwards, and byul can’t find the words to explain it. all she knows is that the warmth won’t go away.

she smiles. “nothing,” byul promises. “i’m okay.”

wheein wrinkles her nose at her. 

“you look really cute right now, by the way,” she adds. “with your hair all tied up like that.”

wheein’s answer is to pose, hands fanned out under her face. she’s a flower, something bright and soft. something summery. something she can’t help but be drawn to.

wheein winks, for a brief electrifying moment. then she puts her hands down and takes a sip of her water. solar yells something about _no grease_. 

“we’re naming our subunit that!” wheein yells back. “just to make you upset!”

solar sticks her tongue out at them.

*.*.*

the third night goes like this:

“you’re my medicine,” wheein says. “my sleeping medicine.” she pulls her close and tight, in a way that is familiar now. she sleeps in little blue shorts and the seams rub against byul’s thighs, but she doesn’t mind. really.

it takes longer than usual, though. wheein’s heartbeat is faster than it usually is, all _thump thump thump_ against their intertwined hands. it’s warmer than usual, maybe. or louder. neither of them say anything, just listen to the sound of each other breathing.

byul falls asleep first. on accident, really. all she knows is that wheein isn’t asleep yet and she has to stay until she is and then she’s drifting off somewhere far into her subconscious, lighter than her roommate’s tinkling descants.

she wakes up too late and too early, in those in-between hours. byul can’t remember where she is for a second and then she feels wheein’s warmth in her arms, hears the soft sound of her breathing - slow and steady once again. she can’t bring herself to get up just yet.

so she just lies there. wheein pulled close, looking at the clock and telling herself she’ll move in a minute.

but she doesn’t.

the summer air is hot, sticky. it clings to byul and wheein and the spaces between them - the few that remain - smelling like irises and melting pavement. or maybe the smell is all in her head. a side effect of this effervescent dream, colored blue and purple in the moonlight.

wheein’s words from earlier that day come back to her. about the way jazz looks blue sometimes even though it’s just sound. r&b too. “that can be our subunit,” she’d said, breathless, back pressed against the wall of the studio. “blue moon. _shining blue moon._ ”

at the time, it had sounded so ridiculous and byul had thrown her towel at her in play. “hey!” she’d said. “that’s the name of a drama, not a subunit. we’re above that, aren’t we?”

“we’re _mamamoo._ ”

the moon is blue. the sheets are blue. the smell is blue. the sound she craves for somewhere deep in the future is blue. even byul herself - small as she is in this moment - feels blue.

and, across the room, blue numbers glow out of an electric alarm clock, reminding her that her time like this is limited.

2:23. 2:24. 2:25. it’s not until 2:26 that byul can muster up the stamina to climb down to her own bed. she pries herself out of wheein’s soft grip, almost flinches at the soft sigh that escapes her roommate’s lips, and climbs down the wooden rungs. the wood feels so much rougher on her fingers than usual.

her own bed is cold. more an indigo than anything else. byul looks up at the printed pictures she has stuck between the rungs. the four of them. the two of them. the people she’s looked up to forever and ever, whose careers she’s envied and footsteps she’s tried desperately to follow. 

the night is hot. the world is blue. byul finds sleep once more. it’s not quite the same, though.


End file.
